


Ye Merry Gentlemen

by NoelleAngelFyre



Series: Twelve Fics of Christmas 2020 [4]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Party, Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Suggestive Content, Secret Relationship, Strained Parent/Child Relationship, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: A quiet moment stolen at the Rathaway Christmas gala.
Relationships: Hartley Rathaway/Axel Walker
Series: Twelve Fics of Christmas 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043328
Kudos: 6





	Ye Merry Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

> I know I haven't written for this pairing before, but it's growing a special place in my heart. Comments and kudos are love. :)
> 
> Title from "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen".

The house (mansion, really) is decorated in the fashion of colonial extravagance: the exterior boasts thick strands of garland entwined with multi-colored lights; poinsettias of varied shades fill every one of the interior corners, collected in bunches of three or four, with their bases wrapped in red velvet ribbon; and the fireplace is merrily crackling within its brick hearth. The property is illuminated by candles in ornate glass lanterns, each one hung at a specifically measured distance from the other on cast-iron posts. The foyer features long-stemmed glasses of hundred-dollar rose bubbly and the dining room boasts long tables overflowing with platters of cooked meat, fresh loaf, and every kind of holiday trimming known to mankind.

In short, the amount of disgusting wealth accumulated in this one place is enough to make Hartley sick. The hours leading up to his parents’ annual Christmas gala were rife with temptation to feign terrible illness or sneak out the bedroom window and find some hole to hide in for the rest of the night…and then he saw the guest list, where Redemption presented itself in typed black print.

“Found you…” warm hands drag a lazy path down his arms and settle low at the waist. The whisper is almost inaudible over the cheery tunes burbling out of the turntable. Almost.

“You say that like I was hiding.” It’s a wasted effort to hide his blush; Axel is close enough that he could see it no matter what feeble attempt Hartley could muster up. All the same, he makes a point to hide as much of himself in the punch cup as possible – before, that is, long fingers curl around his wrist and claim the adjacent hand for different purposes.

“Were you?”

Technically speaking, not really: the open floor plan means Hartley’s current perch at the second story rail, looking down to the foyer and the ensemble of glittering evening gowns and three-piece formal suits, is not ideal for any sort of hiding place. However, if hard-pressed, Hartley might have to admit to as much: the memories of last summer are very fresh and very…explicit in recalled detail. Enough that the flush is hot across his face and beyond his ability to control.

Axel hums, obviously amused at Hartley’s silence, and his thumbs move in lazy pattern over the tailored waistband. “It’s been a long time, babe…I forgot how good you look in a suit.”

Right on cue, Hartley feels his cheeks flush warmly. At only seventeen, he doesn’t consider himself good-looking in any sense of the phrase: he’s too skinny, freckles and moles dot far too much of his skin, he doesn’t get enough sun to boast the smooth tan that covers Axel’s entire body, and these stupid frames which Mother forced on him, despite even the ophthalmologist suggesting a different set, make him look like a blind owl. Hardly the stuff of erotic desire.

Axel disagrees entirely with this assessment, of course. Axel disagrees with most of the things that come out of his mouth.

“Axel…” Hartley’s breath hitches in a way he’s not particularly proud of as warm lips find bare skin atop his starched collar, “They…they might see.”

“Let ‘em,” because that’s Axel’s style in one phrase: utter disregard for social propriety and what is accepted by the elite society which conceived and has reared them both; a force of nature, wild and untamed, that takes unprecedented pleasure in demolishing Hartley’s inhibitions and better judgment, burning away the false face to show something else, something undesirable by his own family and yet coveted by one person to such extremes that it could very well kill him, “Let them see, baby. You know I’ll never hand over the full show.”

If his cheeks were hot before, they’re scorching hot now – both at the implications and the way Axel’s fingers are teasing the buttons at his collar. “Axel…”

“Shhh…” another kiss to the neck, this one a burning imprint felt down to the nerves, “You know I’ll treat you right, sugar. I’ll _always_ treat you right.”

On that note, at least, Hartley is entirely without disagreement.


End file.
